


Underwater Moonlight

by Thatkindghost



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Drowning, Gen, Missing Persons, Murder, Secrets, Sirens, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-18 16:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16521023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindghost/pseuds/Thatkindghost
Summary: Huey, Dewey, and Louie know nothing about their Mother or their Uncle, only that there was a tragedy that their family refuses to speak about. Despite Calisota only being an hour drive from the beach, they've never been. The ocean is dangerous.(Alternate Universe- Meant to be generally spooky with an emphasis on sadness. Most of the Adults do not get a happy ending. Panchito/Donald/Jose mentioned, Della/Daisy mentioned, lena/Webby mentioned and endgame, but not focused on. more tags will be added as the story develops.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know its after halloween but I hope y'all still want some spooky fic

Grandma says _don’t go near the ocean, boys, it’s dangerous by the docks_ and they know she’s being serious because Great Uncle Scrooge kept on drinking his watered down tea and didn’t give them that sly smile that meant adventure or mischief or fun. Instead he just looked… sorta sad.

* * *

 There’s only three rooms in the entire mansion they’re not allowed inside. One is Great Uncle Scrooge’s office, too many important papers and business things for little boys to play in, and the other two are bedrooms in the East wing, just down the hall from Great Uncle Scrooge’s own bedroom. They’re an unsightly thing, in the pristine of the mansion, locked tight and haphazardly (desperately) boarded up so even Huey’s affinity for lock-picking wasn’t enough.

Sometimes, when Louie wakes up very early or hasn’t slept at all and sits outside Great Uncle's room very quietly, watching the sunrise through the curtains in the big window at the very end of that hallway (the best vantage point other that the roof,) just left of those strange and forbidden rooms, he’ll watch Great Uncle Scrooge come out of his room. He’ll be bleary and hazy with sleep, the kind of tired where you forget things you should have remembered, and automatically go to those doors, knuckles stopping just short of _tapp tapping_ the wooden slats nailed to the frames. He stands there for a long moment, and it gives Louie the chance to slowly escape.

(Once, when they were younger and believed, like children do, that there was something lurking in those rooms, and on one of the rare occasions Grandma brought them over to visit, years before they’d all moved in permanently, Dewey had gathered all his bravery and drawn close, peeking through the gaps in the wood-

“The door closest to the window,” he’d said, “was very white. The door next to it- the door knob was broken.”

“And?” Huey asked, leaning forward, while Louie clung to him.

“And it was open, just a crack. I could see inside.”

“What did you see?” Louie asked, eyes wide.

“Nothing.” Dewey admits, “I was too scared- but the walls, they were blue.”

They grow out of that fear, eventually, but next time they go to inspect the doors, the doorknob is still broken, but someone must have stuck something through the gaps around the boards and shut it, firmly.)

It’s strange, the way even Miss Beakley will guide them away from those doors if their play strays too close. They were allowed in all the other bedrooms, provided they were polite- Louie was particularly fond of Cousin Gladstone’s room, all of his fancy smelling colognes and sleep comfort mattress and perfectly plush and soft blankets, the best place to nap since Cousin Gladstone never stayed in the mansion. Cousin Fethrys room had empty glass tanks where he used to keep lizards and fish and tarantulas, books upon books of cryptozoology, a hand-made model of the solar system strung up that drove Huey nuts because it was wrong- but they were allowed in. Why weren’t they allowed in their own mothers? And why weren’t they allowed in-

(“You know everything?” Louie asked, peering at the girls cork board, red string tied around the photo she’d just snapped of him and his siblings and looped around Great Uncle Scrooge’s own pin, a mysterious gap where there was no picture of their mom.

Webbigail Vanderquack hummed, “About Scrooge McDuck? I’m the expert.”

“Do you know what the rooms look like? On the inside?” He asks, turning from the board, “Couldn’t we get there through the vents?”

Webby is already shaking her head no, “the vents are boarded too- the windows are the same.” She adds, before Dewey can ask.

Huey brushes his finger over the red string, “Do you know what happened?”

Webby looks more apologetic this time, when she shakes her head.

“Do you still have those nerf guns?”)

* * *

 Dewey is coloring with crayons. He was too old for those now, but it was nice sometimes- he draws a lighthouse, lopsided on one side not on purpose, garish yellow light cutting across the white paper, purple-blue ocean waves because he’d used the true blue all up in different drawing long ago.

“What are you drawing?” Great Uncle Scrooge asks, walking into the kitchen, headed towards the stove.

“The ocean.” Dewey says, and Great Uncle Scrooge’s hands still on the teapot.

* * *

 There’s a man who the triplets all collectively call The Fisherman. He sells jars of honey with honeycomb still inside and strawberries at the farmers market, when they were in season.

“Why do you call him The Fisherman? He’s not selling any fish.”  Webby asks while Grandma haggles with a different vendor over tomato prices, voice not quite low enough for The Fisherman not to overhear.

“You don’t sell fish at a farmers market.” Louie informed her, “There’s like, fish markets or something.”

“He works at the dock, and ‘The Fisherman’ sounds way cooler than ‘The Farmer.’” Huey picks up a jar of honey and checks the price.

“Or you could always just call me by my name?” The Fisherman, Panchito, crosses his arms, smiling.

Webby stands in her tiptoes to see everything on the table, “Where’s Jose today?”

“Ah,” Panchito waves his hand, “he is doing some shopping- The holiday season is coming, and he likes for it to be a surprise.”

“Are you going to get him something nice too?”

Panchito hums, “Yes, I think so. He has had his eye on a particular ring for far too long now…”

Panchito and Jose are the kids favorite part of the Farmers market. Panchito works at the docks on a small boat, and Jose is a Bartender in the evening and a Gardener and a beekeeper in the day- once their harvest comes to fruition they take what they like and bring the rest to sell here. Most of the time Jose come alone to set up, and once Panchito finishes his work on the docks he come down to mingle and help clean up, it was a rare exception today.

Uncle Panchito always wore his work clothes to the Farmers market, it was why the triplets had given him that silly nickname- rubber boots, overalls, raincoats. Today, though, he’d come straight to the market to take over for Jose, so he was dressed down- red pants, an open front jacket, empty holsters on his hips.

Sometimes, if they were lucky, Panchito or Jose would talk about their mom, they’d both known her- but if they were extra Lucky, Gladstone lucky, they’d talk about their-

“What’s the ocean like, Panchito?” Dewey asks. The others stop. Dewey is the bravest, the boldest, and Huey and Louie stayed very very still to listen to the answer.

Panchito freezes too, pauses for a long moment, before moving to readjust the honey jars that don’t need to to be readjusted, “it is… very beautiful.” He says.

“Grandma says the ocean is dangerous.” Huey helps him straighten them out.

Panchito is quiet for a very long moment, “Your Mother, she was a pilot, you know- but your Uncle-“ Panchito smiles and it’s brittle around the edges, “He was a sailor.”

Webby carefully notes the past tense. They all take the information (a sailor-) and tuck it away quietly, a new and carefully given piece of knowledge on a man so hidden from their life.

“And the ocean is dangerous, it is unforgiving, you must be careful. Even on the shore, you must be careful. Your Uncle was so careful.”

“Did you love him?” Louie asks, eyes sharp on the fragility of Panchitos posture, the sadness in the shine of his eyes.

“We did.” He smiles, and it’s softer around the edges.

“Did what?” Grandma duck asks coming up behind them, holding a bag of tomatoes and a victorious smile.

“I promised the kids a free jar of honey next time they were all here! Just a little gift for my favorite customers.” Panchito answers brightly, spinning around to face her, all signs of mourning gone.

Grandma scoffs, teasing, “customers? More like swindlers! They’ve never paid for a damn thing from you.” She pointed out, no heat behind it, a curling smile on her bill.

“Ah call it a family discount, one hundred percent off.” He shrugged.

“Well, at least let me buy some strawberries then, and I’ll bake a pie.”

Panchito grabbed a jar of honey and a basket of strawberries, bagging them up for her, and of course he insisted she didn’t pay. Family discount.

If only.

(“Why did you stay?” Daisy had asked once, standing on the stable part of the docks, careful not to let her heels slip between the spaces in the wood.

He steps away from the boat, walks across to the end of the dock and she follows him for the privacy. They look out across the saltwater. “Could you leave them?” He says.

Daisy is quiet for a long time, “they don’t talk about him anymore, Scrooge won’t even say his name. At least they know about their Mom, but Donald...”

Panchito had bought Jose’s ring a long time ago, and two matching ones to go with it.)

* * *

 “Have you ever been to the ocean?”

Webby stirred her cereal, “I was barely allowed to leave the house before you guys came along.”

“Let’s go.” Huey shoves his bowl away, standing up.

And they do. They scrounge and save all their meager allowances, doing extra chores around the mansion for pocket change. And when they have enough, they buy four bus tickets, round trip. Launchpad would have been faster, a bit more dangerous, and free- but they couldn’t have even the slightest chance of anyone in their family finding out. They would forbid them, and all will the same sadness and avoidance and secrets.

No one bats and eye when they head out the door to Funzos, and no one bats an eye when they get on the bus either. They sit quietly, even Webby and Dewey only fidget in their seats, until the bus stops at the edge of the shore. They’re not near the docks, either, but by the tourist section- the consumer beaches. They’re the only ones who get off. It’s a chilly autumn, closer to winter, and no one sits on the beach at this time of year.

The concrete is cold, the sand is colder. The smell of the saltwater clings to their beaks, foreign, and the wind blows sand into the spaces between their feathers. They trek out, slowly, to the shore. The beach goes on for miles in one direction, a lighthouse just out miles down the beach where the sand turns into rocks and solid ground, the docks just past that. In the other direction it’s more sand and beaches, before rocks and caves crawl up out of the water.

They stand there for a long time, and then when they’re done standing they sit. Webby and Huey go for a drink run, bringing back cans of Pep and little snack bags of potato chips.

“This has been completely underwhelming.” Louie says finally.

“But we are breaking the rules,” Huey points out, “that’s exciting.”

“I wonder why Mr. McDuck and Ms. Duck are so weird about the ocean. Nothings happened to us.”

“Yet.”

There’s another long pause.

There’s a splash in the water, and they all snap to it, eyes wide.

Huey stands, “What was that? Is there someone out there, in the water?”

“It’s freezing out!” Webby stands too, the others follow, “It’s way too cold for anyone to be swimming!”

Dewey hurries towards the water, the others keeping up, “Should we help?”

“What if it's not a person?”

“What else could it be?”

“A shark, for all we know!” Louie defends, “Or a squid! Or one of those fish with all the teeth and the light on its head!”

“An Anglerfish?” Webby quirks her head.

Huey pulls the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook out of his hat, flipping through the pages, “You don’t have to worry about those up here, they’re deep sea creatures. They can live anywhere thats too low pressure.”

“I haven't heard another splash, and I don't see anyone else here, it probably was just a big fish or something,” scanning the water, louie is the first to stop walking.

Dewey is the last- he stops right at the water's edge, straining to hear, to see, “Is anyone out there?” He calls, voice almost swallowed by the crash of waves. Theres is no response, only dark water and darker shapes underneath its mass. The waving of seaweed or trash or something hungry undulating beneath the tide.

The water rushes up towards him, a particularly powerful wave exploding far off from the shore, it surges forward from the force of it, crawling up the sand to touch his toes- his feet fly out from underneath him, Dewey shouts-

“What are you kids doing out here?” Cousin Gladstone almost snarls, tearing him away from the waters edge, staring intently at something just outside of reach, staring at the part of the beach where the water has carved away the sand and the floor begins to slope deeper.

He spins around, still holding Dewey by his upper arms, “You know it’s dangerous- you’re lucky I got here when I did!” He sets Dewey down, not gently but not unkind either, keeping a hold of his arm, “Come on, I am driving you home right now.”

They’d never seen Cousin Gladstone truly angry, not the way he was now, white-knuckling the steering wheel, grinding his teeth, line of tension taut around his shoulders. They ride home is silent, even Louie keeps his beak shut.

“I’m sorry.” Huey says finally, when they’re only fifteen minutes away from home, “We didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Gladstone pulls over. He stares straight ahead for a long moment, takes a shuddery sort of breath. The kids all look at each other nervously. He twists in his seat to face them- they all start to realize there’s tears in his eyes.

“I’m not angry,” he says, voice shaking on the last word before stealing again, “I was afraid.” he pauses for a long moment, “Okay and maybe a little angry, you all know how dangerous the ocean is- and you came out, alone, in the middle of November? And i can trust you didn’t tell anyone what you were doing either? Do you know how irresponsible that is?”

He reaches up to rub the bridge of his beak, as if quelling a headache, and then he turns away and cracks a small smile, “God, i’m starting to sound like you, D-man.”

“Who?” Louie ventures and Gladstone jerks, as if he’s been struck.

“I…” He swallows, “Uncle Scrooge and I will tell you, okay? We’ll both tell you when we get back to the mansion. I think it’s time we stopped hiding everything.

(Except that he doesn’t. They get home, the kids are grounded for three weeks and sent to bed early, and when they sit by the vents they can hear Cousin Gladstone and Great Uncle Scrooge arguing- they cant make out the words, but they can hear how loud they are, how angry they are.

Gladstone leaves in the middle of the night.

Webby comes down for a glass of water and finds him standing in the kitchen, staring out the window, “Hello Mr. Gander.” She says, stepping around him to get a cup.

He jumps at her voice, smiling, “Good morning Webs.”

“It’s the middle of the night.” She points out, turning the faucet on, “Did your talk with Mr. McDuck go okay?”

The smile fades, “No, it did not. Grandma agrees with him, im out voted. Looks like you’ll have to wait until you’re older.”

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” She frowns, “We go on death defying adventures every other week.”

“The ocean is different. You don’t understand- it's dangerous to be in the water.”

Webby frowns, “but you were, when you grabbed Dewey, and you weren’t in danger. The water wasn’t even that deep.”

Gladstone smiles vacantly, “I’m sure Uncle Scrooge will tell you when you’re older.”

Webby sighs, “I just hate all the secrets, you know?” She finishes her drink, setting the cup in the sink, “I’ll see you in the morning Mr. Gander!”

“Goodnight, Webby! Sweet dreams!” He calls after her.)

* * *

The streetlights are on, the gap between the lights throwing the cab of his car into blackness, jarring in its emptiness. There is music playing, softly. Gladstone drives on silently. No cops pull him over for speeding, no twigs or branches block his way.

The sand is colder now, without the sun, and the water is black.

His luck has run out, it seems.

* * *

 Gladstone was known to disappear, to be whisked away on one free trip after another and not be bother to call, especially if he and Great Uncle Scrooge were having an argument.

There’s a green car abandoned in a no park zone, in front of the beach. It mysteriously never gets towed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole Goofys wife's name from an Extremely goofy movie. She's not actually the Sylvia we know, I just through it would be a fun shoutout! thanks for reading!

Daisy Duck is a household face, the lead reporter on KCUS-TV, one of the most popular in Calisota. She’s all smiles and pristine blazers on air, but tonight there’s no camera.

“...of course Mr. McDuck….. I’m sure….. they’ll be fine here, it’s no problem, I love having the kids over. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances… call me when you hear anything.” There’s a click as she hangs up the receiver, a landline still, and she spins around to face the kids. She’s tried to be quiet while in the phone, but they’ve always had sharp ears. She bites her cheek, thinking.

“...is Grandma gonna be alright?” Dewey asks, very quietly.

“Your Great Uncle took her to the Hospital, they’re trained to handle this sort of thing.” Daisy says.

“You avoided the question.” Louie points out, voice wobbling.

“Guys, it was just a broken hip! People break their bones all the time. She’ll be fine.” Dewey says with an air of finality.

Daisy pauses, takes a deep breath, “Kids…” She says, “Grandma is old, and a hip injury is very serious.” She says delicately. They all look down, at the table top, quiet. “Why don’t we watch a movie? You can pick any one you like, even the R rated one!” She suggests and then pauses, “Within reason, of course. We can have popcorn too, and i’ll make hot cocoa.”

They perk up at that, not quite all the way, and jump down from their seats to rummage through the dvd collection Daisy had. She set bout busying herself around the kitchen and quite certainly not thinking about her ineffectiveness as an adult figure in their life.

The kids flip through all the dvds she had, arguing and debating, and expanding their search to include more of the movies they hadn’t been allowed to watch before. It’s a small book, right in between the Matrix and the Blair Witch project, that they find. It’s got an ugly floral print on it, yellowed around the edges with age, and Dewey flicks it open before he bothers to think about it.

The first is a picture of four girls- three ducks and a dog- all around high school age, all dressed in graduation outfits- there’s a year scribbled on the bottom and three names: Delilah, Daisy, Gloria, and Sylvia, in order of how they appear in the picture. His brothers pause, peeking over his shoulder at the picture. There she is, their mother the first in the line, smiling and posing for the camera with her friends- she had short hair, cut just above her shoulders, and a wide smile, and bright eyes. It wasn’t as if they’d never seen a picture of her before, but they was… new, different, and it made Dewey feel a little watery around the edges.

“Oh.” Daisy says, softly.

Dewey jumps, looking up at her guiltily.

She steps forward, out of the doorway, and sets the popcorn on the coffee table. Dewey flips the book closed, holding it out to her. She takes it and moves around them, sitting on the recliner, “I forgot I had this.” She says, quietly. She flips it open again, and stares at the first picture.

She holds it out, showing them, “This is us at graduation. I’m surprised Gloria graduated at all, you know? She was all about flower power and free love, she used to skip school and bum around in the woods.” Daisy tells them, pointing at the duck on the very far right. She was pretty in a plain sort of way, with round wire framed glasses and messy hair, loosely braided at the base, with a pale blue bandana peeking out from underneath her graduation cap. “Stay in School, by the way.”

She points at the beagle next, “This is Sylvia- i don’t know if you boys remember her, you met when you were very newly hatched.” Daisy muses, tapping the black haired beagle. She was wearing a set of pearls and there was a promise ring on her finger, she was the only one of them wearing lipstick, “She was Goofys wife, and she helped babysit you little ones before they moved to spoonerville. She passed away a little after they left.”

“They were your friends?” webby blinks, studying the figures.

“Oh Sylvia, yes- I liked Gloria well enough, but we were like water and oil, y’know? She was dating Fethry, and our circles ran together. I haven't talked to Gloria in ages, last I heard she was in rehab again.”

Daisy turns away, and holds the picture close again, “Della graduated third in our class.” She says and the room feels all too silent, in the pause between her words, “She didn’t study, y’know, not like I did. She had this talent for picking things up like it was nothing- naturally good at almost everything. It was infuriating.” But Daisy is smiling, fond and soft.

She flips the picture up to look at the next one and freezes completely, staring at the picture. She breathes out hard from her nose, and blinks away the tears, before turning it around to show them.

Huey hears Louie and Deweys breath hitch and feels better knowing he wasn’t the only one, eyes wide as he picks out all the details of the picture, trying hard to commit it to memory. It’s their mother again, dressed up in a pilots outfit, goggles on her head. She's laughing, smiling wide and glamorous, and her arms are out and she’s-

He’s wearing a blue sailor suit. It’s the second thing Webby notices, the first begin the fact that his head is tilted up and away from the cake Della is shoving him into, frosting already leaping off at the shockwaves. The third thing she notices is the writing on the very bottom- _Happy 21st birthday Della and Donald!_

“I took this picture,” Daisy says, “Della and I conspired about it, beforehand, so I could get the perfect shot. Your Uncle Donald-” they all jerk, “-Was hopping mad, quacking up a storm about his ruined shirt, but he couldn’t stop laughing when I finally showed him the photo.”

Daisy looks at the next picture and laughs, this time. It’s their prom picture. “Oh this- Della and I went to prom together, I have such good photos of this- we were both so nervous to look out best we went to these crazy extremes! I Dyed my hair blonde and she got a perm. I also picked out the dumbest looking dress in the whole world, too.”

Both girls were standing in front of a fountain, holding hands awkwardly, smiling nervously at the camera. Della's hair was huge, standing out and frizzing up awkwardly, and Aunt Daisy's hair sure was blonde, garishly so, and her dress… well, it had padded shoulders and bright yellow tulle swallowing her up.

“You look like big bird.” Dewey grins.

“I look like-” Daisy laughs, a surprised sort of sound, “I Look just like big bird!”

They go through the book slowly, Daisy tells little anecdotes at each one- stories about different birthday parties, dates her and Della went on, little things, fun things. It’s the first time anyone's ever spoken so freely about their Uncle. Great Uncle Scrooge and Grandma were not quite so tight lipped about their mom, but would clam up at even the notion that their Mother had a brother.

“Aunt Daisy?” Louie fiddles with his hoodie strings, “What happened to Mom? To both of them?”

Daisy is silent, and then… She opens her beak-

The phone rings.

She jumps up, stepping over where they are still sitting on the floor, and answers it. There's a hushed conversation from the kitchen, the kids graze on the stale popcorn still sitting on the coffee table. They’d learned so much, but not enough, not yet. Not until they knew what happened.

They hear her hang up the receiver, coming around the corner, “Okay boys, good news! Your Grandma is out of surgery and she’s recovering, Great Uncle Scrooge is staying up there for the night, but Mrs. Beakley is home and has everything all cleaned up now. Go grab your stuff and i’ll take you home, alright?”

They’d brought overnight bags, just in case, but Daisy had work early in the morning and it would be easier for everyone if they went home tonight- plus, none of the kids really wanted to wake up early, anyway. They were glad of course, that Grandma is alright, but they almost wish Scrooge had thought to call just a little bit later… almost. Almost. They slink away to get their things, and Daisy herds them all into her little car, driving across town as the sky darkens around them.

When they get to the mansion, they’re almost inside when Daisy jumps out of her car.

“Louie!” She calls and he stops at the threshold, turning to look at her. She runs up the steps, out of breath, and holds out a CD- it’s one she normally has in her car, some band from when she was a kid that she never plays, “You said you wanted to borrow this, right? You can just give it back to me next time we see each other.” And she looks at him, imploring.

He catches on, “Oh, I almost forgot. Thanks Aunt Daisy.” He smiles, shoving it in his jacket pocket, walking into the house.

“He’s stressed right now, y’know?” Daisy says to Miss Beakley, “I thought this might take his mind off things.” and Louie knows she’s covering her tracks, that whatever CD she’d just given him was very important for whatever reason. He gets to his shared room and dumps his backpack onto the floor.

Huey finishes putting up his unused pajamas, “What’d Aunt Daisy want?”

“She gave me this,” He said, pulling the CD out. It’s from the 1980s, music by The Soft Boys, the album was name Underwater Moonlight. He pops it open, looking inside. There’s nothing special about it, no writing or secret key or… anything. Huh. “It’s just a CD. I thought there was gonna be more to it.”  
  
“Should we listen to it?” Webby waddles inside, dressed in comfy pants and a t shirt, making sure to close the door behind her.

“I guess.” Louie pops the cd out and his breath catches. There’s a folded up piece of paper hidden underneath. He sets the cd aside, unfolding the treasure.

It’s the photo of Mom and Uncle Donald on their birthday, the one where she’s shoving his face into the cake.

Louie cries, and the other three come around him, comforting, and share the grief together.

( _Past the gun emplacement and the_

_Bones as white as bleach_

_Through the rats and ivy til' they_

_Came out on a beach_

_Out into the ocean til' they disappeared from view_

_Honey when it gets you there's just nothing you can do._

_Underwater moonlight, sets the body free_

_Underwater moonlight, baby you and me_

_Underwater moonlight, underwater moonlight_ )

* * *

 

Grandma doesn’t walk much, now. Scrooge moves her to one of the downstairs bedrooms for convenience, one that’s closest to the bathroom. She uses a wheelchair most of the time, now, and she doesn't go to the farmers market at all. Huey offers to go for her, most of the time, and he’ll draw at least one of his siblings along. It’s Webby this time who comes.

“Hey Uncle Jose! Hey Uncle Panchito!” Huey calls, bounding up.

“Hello kids! How are you today?” Jose smiles, Panchito slower to follow- its strange, for the normally energetic rooster.

“We’re good, just picking up some fresh tomatoes for grandma again.”

Panchitos smile turns strained, “Excuse me, i will be back in a moment.: He mutters, standing up and walking away.’

Webby frowns, “Is… everything alright?” She smoothes out the pleats in her skirt nervously.

“Si,” Jose nods, “He is just not feeling well today, you understand. Migraine.” but he casts a nervous glance to Panchito, where he’s leaning against their car heavily.

“Shouldn’t he go home and rest?” Huey watches him too.

Jose is quiet, “is it… not that kind of sickness.” he says finally.

Panchito comes back as Huey and Webby step away to gather their groceries, but they're close enough to hear they are low conversation, just barely. Huey pretends to inspect a tomato for spots while he eavesdrops.

“I wish they would stop with this incessant music,” Panchito presses his face into the curve of Joses neck, eyes squeezed shut.

“Mi Amor, I am sorry,” He rubs circles into his spine, “But there is no music playing.”

“Not here.” Panchito hisses.

Jose's grip tightens, the hand he used to smooth out the tension in his spine fisting into his shirt, “I know, I know,” He presses a kiss to the side of his mouth, “It will pass, Panchito, stay here with me. It will pass.” it sounds like a mantra, and he says it with such familiarity.

(The Fisherman worked at the docks, on the sea. And the ocean is dangerous, even just the water.)

* * *

 

“I have put it off too long.” Panchito says, waking Jose in the middle of the night, “The music is so beautiful.”

Jose grabs his wrist before he can get out of bed, wedding band glinting in the low light, “this isn’t you.”

Panchito pulls on his wrist and Jose comes with it, and he hugs his fiercely, “It is, my love, and I miss him so badly. I have put it off too long.” he lets go, gets up, and walks out of the house. He goes to their car and gets into the driver's seat, but before he can even turn it on the passengers side opens too.

Panchito looks at him, eyes dark and sad. “I miss him, too.” jose says quietly.

He puts it into reverse, and backs out into the street.

* * *

 

Jose stands on the beach, “I am afraid.” he says finally.

Panchito takes his hand, kisses it even as his body is pulled towards the water, “Then go home, Ze, it will be okay. I will be okay.”

Jose looks out across the black black water, so dark the moonlight reflects off of it like an undulating mirror, “I think I already am home.” he says, and together they step into the sea. There's a splash in the water in front of them.

* * *

 

Huey and Dewey see the empty table at the end of the farmers market row and they look at each other and shrug.

“I guess they finally went on that honeymoon.”

* * *

 

Daisy bangs on their door so hard it rattles on its hinges, she screams their names and begs them to come to the door, to answer it. There’s no car in the driveway, there’s 14 ignored phone calls on their landline and their cellphones. She knows, she knows.

Her hand is bruised.

She collapses against the door and sobs until her voice breaks. Everyone she knew was gone- all her friends in high school, dropping like flies around her. She clung desperately to the few she had left, and now the door she came to when she heard the faint tinkling of bells would never open for her again. She was alone.

And now, it was three. Fethry, Gladstone, and herself. The only ones left.

She pulls out her phone again, hands shaking and the music playing gets subtly louder, and hits the call button one more time. Gladstone Gander never missed her calls, not since Della and Donald has died- he always managed to answer, no matter what. No matter what.

The line went to voicemail.

Two left, then.

She feels herself steel, suddenly. Daisy stands up and walks to her car, the sound of pianos and a soft mumbling sort of voice starting to sing. She drives slowly, down the street. It’s a bright august day, sunny and warm. There’s people out at the beach, all lined up and sunbathing on their towels in the sand and splashing in the water- it’s not unusual, to be on the beach that day, and she doesn’t stick out at all, even in her casual shirt. She kicks off her heels before she even gets out of the car.

No one notices, really, when another person steps into the water. It’s not something you think to notice at all, on a beach, in this heat. She eases out, deeper and deeper, until the water laps at her chest.

There are tears on her face, of helplessness, of fear, of grief. She thinks of the boys-

“Wait-“ She sobs.

One.

* * *

 

Grandma passed away peacefully when they’re all sixteen, in her sleep. There's no funeral, she had insisted, and she was cremated and scattered carefully by Great Uncle Scrooge's own hand into the sea. While he’s gone, honoring her last wish, Huey snaps and tears down the boards keeping them out of their mother's bedroom, and then he tears down the boards in front of their Uncles too. Her room is and off white almost beige, deep red curtains and a canopy bed, model airplanes, posters, CDs and a walkman sitting on the desk. There’s a bookshelf full of books, some cheesy romance novels and half mystic tomes or school books. Its pristine and plastic, almost fake in its perfection and it makes huey want to scream.

Dewey and Louie are placating, palms flat.

His room is barren. The door Knob is broken, the walls are blue, The bed, a simple full, has been stripped clean. There’s no clothes in any of the dresser, no stuff stored in the closet, no books on the bookshelf, nothing. Empty, except for the suitcase shoved against the far wall, filled with clothes and toiletries and enough money to make louie reel. Its barren, empty, and it makes Huey want to _scream_.

“Why!” He hyperventilates, “Why is it always us!? Why do we always have to lose someone we love?” he paces a circle, pulling at the edges of his hat. They’ve worn loss like a second skin, but never like this, never volatile and shakes- Louie and Dewey kept their grief bottled up, for the time, ready to burst from their chests at any moment- Huey never capped his at all.

“Huey- calm down and- come look at this?” he pauses, looks over his shoulder where Webby is tracing her finger across the floor. Her tone, her question, her action are enough to make his breathing ease, and his curiosity makes him step over and crouch beside her.

“Grooves,” She says, “Scratched into the floor.”

He traces his hand up until it hits the edge of the dressers leg and makes the connection almost immediately. He stands and pulls it out and- there's… nothing behind it? No trap door or anything. He steps back, eyebrows drawn, and examines the groove again.

“It looks like he… he pulled it out and it tipped over.” He concludes, standing up and shoving the dresser just right for it to tip all the way and clatter to the ground with a horrible crash- “he tore the room apart,” he realizes, looking around for more of the grooves, the dents, in the flooring, “He broke the knob off the door, he had a bag packed- why? What is this?” he growls in frustration, “Why won't anyone tell us what _happened?!_ ” He’s shouting by the end of it, breathing hard.

“Dude, what is your deal? I know we’re all struggling with this but you don't need to start breaking shit,” Louie edged uneasily.

“Maybe we should talk about this.” Dewey frowns

There’s a knock at the door- it’s… Cousin Fethry.

“Hey, Kiddos…” He says, but he’s not really seeing them, staring blankly at the barren walls, “I’m supposed to watch you guys, until Uncle Scrooge comes back…”

“Cousin Fethry…” Huey exhales, “Will you tell us what happened? To Mom and Uncle Donald?”

Cousin Fethry drags his hand down the edge of the door frame, feeling the traces of sharpie where they’d measured how tall Donald and Della were each new years day.

“Yeah,” He says simply, “I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything close to horror before, so I hope this turned out!

“He was going to leave, right before the left on this last adventure. I think he wanted some freedom, some space- he and Uncle Scrooge used to fight all the time. Destroyed his room after one particularly bad oargument. I don’t know why he decided to finish this last trip at all.” There’s a pause as he stares at the suitcase.

“Donald was in the navy.” Fethry says, turning away and walking out the door, the others scrambling to keep up, “He used to tell me things, about it, that he didn’t tell anyone else. He said sometimes if you were alone on deck, you could hear the sounds of music. He told me he’d almost thrown himself off the side, once. He told me there'd been an accident, that he’d killed a mermaid.

“I think he said all this to me because I was the weird one, you know? I believe in that sort of thing. Even after all his adventures, after meeting gods and fighting Minotaurs, he still thought he was crazy to talk about hearing music while no one was playing any.”

He turns abruptly down another corridor, “he disappeared on the way back from another adventure with Della and Uncle Scrooge. Everyone says he died, but I think he just disappeared. Uncle Scrooge gets upset with me if I say that though,” he glances over his shoulder, “there was a storm, in the middle of the sea, while they sailed back. There was a big wave… and Donald was in the wrong place at the wrong time, he always is, and he was swept off the side. They looked for him, tried to save him, but there was no sign. He was the best swimmer out of us all, he’s fought and won against rip currents before, and yet this time… he simply fell into the water and never came out again.”

They arrive in the living room, and Fethry paces, “they came home, they had to, but they didn’t stop looking. You see if anyone was gonna survive something like that, it would have been Donald. It was weeks before they finally gave up, and that’s when things started to get… weird.”

He stops and gently sits down on the couch, hunched forward, “I was working in the Underwater Laboratory of The Future for Uncle Scrooge, at that time. Being alone had started to get to me- I saw things that weren’t there, shapes in the water, I heard-“ he stops, rubbing his hand down his face, “I heard this funny little song…”

He spaces out for a moment before snapping back to reality, “it was after the funeral, when I was staying here in the mansion, that I realized something wasn’t right. Della hasn’t given up on him. Donald and Della were twins, you know, inseparable- wherever she went, he followed, and wherever he went, she chased after him and brought him back. She couldn’t let him go.

She told me she could hear him, if she listened hard enough. She told me he needed her to save him, that he was calling for her, from the ocean.”

He stands again, wringing his hands, walking laps around the room that they scrambled out of the way for, “she had you three already, in eggs, and she began to neglect you. Not purposely, but she was so consumed in the search that she simply forgot. Her and Uncle Scrooge fought something vicious, around that time, shaking the walls with their arguments. She shattered a painting of his, once- it was one of all three of them fighting pirates on a ship. She destroyed the frame. I would find her up at all hours of the night, she never slept anymore- she would be standing there with her hands over her head, trying to block out some silent noise. And then… she left.”

“Where did she go?” Huey whispers after too much time has passed, Cousin Fethry looking vacant and in pain.

“To the beach.” Fethry says softly, pausing, “ I stayed behind, to watch your eggs while Uncle Scrooge chased after her.”

“Did he find her?”

“He did. She was in the water, yelling Donald’s name. He grabbed her, pulled her out of the water- it was cold, you see, mid January- and… something else came with her.”

Fethry turns slowly to face them, they’re all still and quiet and frozen, “it was Donald.” He says finally, voice barely above a whisper, “and it wasn’t Donald anymore, all at once.

“Uncle Scrooge was surprised and frightened, and in his fear he let go. In the millisecond it took him to recover, they had disappeared beneath the waves. He searched for her, but neither of them, Della or the Thing dragging her down, came back. He was alone.”

He sits again, “The ocean is dangerous for us, you understand now,  because of what lurks in it. Even since Donald disappeared, our family and our friends have been lost to it- it starts when you touch the water, when the water touches you. Even just slightly- and then you can hear the music.”

Fethry closes his eyes and tilts his head, listening, and then he hums a tune. It’s as if he’s matching someone else, another person singing, “And it draws you in,” he whispers, “It compels you, until you’re forced to stand, to take-“ he laughs, slightly hysterically, “To take a long walk off a short pier.”

“A siren.” Webby gasps.

“A siren's curse.” Great Uncle Scrooge says, from the doorway. They jump, turning to look at him, “why didn’t you tell me he had killed a mermaid?” His voice is tight.

“I didn’t know it was important.” Fethry Frowned, shoulder curling inwards.

“What does that have to do with a Sirens Curse?” Louie asks.

“Because it wasn’t a mermaid at all! It was a siren, he killed a siren, and because of that he was cursed- if you kill a siren, you must stay away from the water, to die by its depths seals you to the same fate! And now- he’s coming after us!” Scrooge threw himself away from the door, slamming his hands into the back of the couch in anger, “I knew he’d done something stupid to curse us this way, but he was idiotic enough to keep that little detail a secret? From me? It was ignorant and foolish, and now we have to pay the price for his mistake-!” He cuts himself off, curling down. “I tried to shield you from this, all of this. I- I saw him again, today.” He grits.

(Scrooge never hears music, nor singing. He only hears-

 _“Uncle Scrooge? It’s dark here, and it’s cold. I’m scared, please help me, please- I don’t know what to do please help me-“_ )

“Can we reverse the curse?”

“It will only stop,” Scrooge grimaces, “when everyone he cared about is gone. Then the curse will be undone, and he’ll be free.”

There’s a long silence, deafening.

“I miss Grandma.” Dewey says, collapsing onto the sofa. Louie sniffles loudly, and then they’re all crying. It isn’t fair. None of it is fair.

* * *

“How are you dealing with this? For so long? It's getting louder…” Scrooge bites his cheek until he tastes copper.

“I was like this before, don’t you remember?” He smiles, “talking to shrimp and calling them my crew. I have an affinity for rolling with the weird- this is just… a little harder.” He swallows, “A lot harder. I just thought it was me.”

“I don’t hear music, Fethry.” uncle Scrooge confesses, eyes closed as he leans over his desk heavily.

Fethry slides a paperweight frog across the table.

“He’s calling for me.” Scrooge whimpers, weaker than he's ever felt.

Fethry makes the paperweight frog jump, “I wonder if that's what Della heard, too.” he says quietly.

* * *

 

They’re nineteen when Cousin Fethry disappears.

(He is sitting on the edge of the beach, not close enough to be overtaken by the water, listening to the music. He will not go into the waves today, he will not give in to the pull-

The ocean parts, and theres a flash of white in the water.

“Oh.” Fethry breathes, “Oh Donnie, I’m so sorry.”

The waves wash away any signs of a struggle, smoothing the sand and desperate dragging claw marks flat once more. He'd put up a fight.)

* * *

 

Webby meets her at a coffee shop on the corner of Main Street, a block away from the library. The girl has pink dyed into her hair and she's wearing a loose blue button up, a striped sweater on top, and she’s beautiful in a dangerous sort of way.

She’s twenty, maybe, twenty one at the oldest, and she comes up behind Webby and pays for her drink. It’s nothing fancy, just a bottle of name brand apple juice.

“Why’d you do that?” Webby turns her head, smiling a little at the pretty girl.

“What, a girl can’t buy another cute girl a drink for no reason?” She shifts her skateboard to her left hand and holds out her right, “Nice to meet you, my name’s Lena.”

“Lena.” Webby tries it out, smiling around the name and curling her fingers around her palm, “My name is Webbigail, though all my friends call me Webby.”

“Well Webby, mind if I sit with you?” She asks and Webby feels her lips quirk in a grin, heat rising to her cheeks.

“My Dear Lena, I think I'd like nothing more.” And she delights in the way Lena sputters, blushing in return.

* * *

 

“You’re going on a date?” Huey asks, looking up from his book.

“I am,” She says, using a pink hair-clip to pull her bangs out of her face.

“Have you told Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey asks.

She pauses, and sighs, “He wouldn’t be able to hear me, anyway. He’s getting worse.”

“It's… only a matter of time.” Huey grimaces.

The silence stretches. “This is fucked up, yeah?” Louie says finally, shaking his head, “You look great. Go out on your date, Webs, and have a good time. Do you need any cash for dinner?”

She smoothes out the wrinkles on her dress, plain blue with a jacket thrown over it in case it got chilly later, “I’m fine, thanks.”

* * *

 

Lena smiles, sitting on her motorcycle, “Can I take you somewhere?”

Webby smiles when she sees her, “Where?” She asks, tilting her head just so.

“A surprise?” She pats the seat, “I just need you to close your eyes, and not open them until we get there. Until I say it's okay?”

Webby swings her legs over the side, securing her arms around Lenas waist, and closes her eyes. This isn't the first time she's been on her bike, not by far, but it's the first times she’d completely surrendered her trust. Lena would keep her safe, if anything happened. She breathes out as the wind whips around her, relaxing into the curve of her spine, and she feels Lenas heartbeat jump beneath her feathers.

They stop, somewhere, and Webbys eyebrows draw. There's the smell of salt hanging around her beak, gritty between her feathers as Lena leads her down a flight of stairs, across stone-

“Lena?” She asks.

“Okay, open your eyes!”

Webbys beathe leaves her and her knees go weak, and not for good reasons. They're standing in the middle of a stage, wooden beneath them- and on each side is saltwater. There's small pathways leading to the concrete seats built in a half circle around the stage, the sky is darkening, streaks of pink and orange reflecting off the water, hiding the things beneath the surface. Webby can't feel her legs, overcome with terror.

Lena is babbling, “-used to come here all the time with my dad, When I was a kid they actually used to have performances here, but now its fallen so badly into disrepair. So i volunteered to fix it up, y’know? It’s not a hard place to restore, just a few minor updates and a fresh coat of paint… are you okay?” she stops, frowning nervously.

“I’m… not.” Webby laughs, panicked, “You didn’t know, so don’t feel bad, okay? I’m just. I don't know how to swim,” She lies, feeling her chest constrict at how easily it comes- but what was she supposed to say? There's a siren after my family? on the first date?? Get real, “I- I get nervous, around water.”

“Oh, god- I should have asked,” Lena winces, “I’m sorry, we can go somewhere else- how about that coffee shop we met at?”

Webby relaxes at that, scanning the water obsessively, “That sound nice, yes. Can we please go now?”

“Let me grab my keys.” Lena points behind her, jogging over to where she’d set them during her rambling.

Webby tries to cross the walkway to solid ground, but the theater is old- it had been old when Lena was a child, and it was weakened by silt and salt and water errosion over the years- and it crumbles beneath her. Its doesnt collapse, not really, but it knocks her off balance enough to send her sideways- she pinwheels her arms, shouts, her heart seems to stop and then- she plunges beneath the water.

It’s black underneath, small streaks of what little sunlight they had left breaking through the gaps between the waves. Webby is paralyzed in fear for half a second before her heart restarts, jackhammering against her ribcage desperately, and she scrambles for the concretes edge-.

She can feel phantom hands on he ankles, tugging her down- she water is like ice in her bones, making it hard to swim, there’s salt in her mouth and she chokes on it- A hand wraps around her wrist and hauls her out of the water, up- and nothing comes with her. Lena pulls her close, stumbles back when Webbys legs give out until they are sitting on the front row of those stone bleachers.

“Its okay,” Lena whispers, running her fingers through her hair, “You’re okay, just breathe.”

And Webby does, gulping down air.

“Do you want to just go back to the mansion,” Webby asks, once shes calmed down enough, once shes stable enough to find her voice once more, “And watch a movie? I kind of need to change.”

(On the ride back, Webby hears the wind whipping around her, drying her hair. When she gets home she hears Huey and Dewey and Louie fretting and stressing, too far to touch her out of fear of the ocean water she's drenched in. When she gets done changing she hears Lena popping popcorn in the kitchen, and she hears the dvd whirring in the dvd player.

Donald Duck never met Webby Vanderquack.

She doesn’t hear any music at all.)

* * *

 

“Boys,” Scrooge says quietly, walking into the kitchen, “I’m ready.” he’s got his cap, his cane, and he’s dressed in his sunday best, spats and all. It’s the clearest he’s sounded in years.

Hueys hands still on his fork.

“Mr.Mcduck, why don’t you sit down, and have breakfast with us one last time?” Miss Beakley asks, pulling out a chair and forcing a brittle looking smile- no matter how much they had prepared, it is still a blow, “Your last hurrah.”

He does not appear to have heard her, staring at her as if he’s trying to understand a different language, or trying to parse her words through thousands of others, before he nods slowly and moves to sit. He’s so much older, now, thin and fragile in illness, nothing like he was in their youth. He is worn out by life- these past two years he's been confined to his bed, unable to hear anything but the call of the ocean, unable to drink or eat or sleep properly.

Yet he looks calm, now, and has no trouble cutting his pancakes.

Huey is dressed down in a loose button up and slacks, another day co-running McDuck industries R&D department with Gyro Gearloose, and he feels woefully underdressed next to Louie in his CEO black suit- but feels a little better compared to Deweys sweatpants. Huey excuses himself from the table to call Webby.

She’d been staying and Lena's every other night, these days. It was only a matter of time before they made it official and she moved in with her. She picks up on the fourth ring, “Hey, Webs. We’re taking Great Uncle Scrooge down to the beach, today.” he winces- it sounds like he talking about taking a rabid dog behind the shed, it sounds like putting an injured animal out of its misery, it sounds exactly like what it is.

“He’s ready?” She asks, softly.

“He said it himself. We’re having breakfast together, for the last time. Do you want us to pick you up or will you have Lena drop you off?”

There's a rustling, as if she's getting out of bed, “I’ll get Lena to bring me. Don’t leave without me, okay? I’ll be there in five.” The line goes dead.

* * *

 

“I don’t know what to do!” Donald shouts, voice cracking. He’s fourteen and lanky, not quite grown into his limbs yet, hanging on the edge of the crumbling temple. He scrabbles for purchase as the ledge he’d been hanging on begins to disintegrate beneath his hands-

Scrooge's cane loops around his wrist seconds before the flooring gives way, leaving donald dangling for half a second before pulling him up, “Don’t worry, Donald! I’ve got you-” his words die when Donald surges forward to hug him, arms looped around his middle.

“You do?” he says, shakey around the edges and the temple settles around them quietly.

“Of course.” He says, rubbing circles into his back.

* * *

 

“Help me!” Donald cries, holding off the creature crouched above him. It’s all blue fur and claws and teeth, and Donald had Uncle Scrooge's cane jammed into the corners of its mouth, keeping its snapping jaws just out of biting reach.

“Hey ugly!” The monster jerks and then pulls away to look at what had just hit him- a rock, thrown by Della, “Pick on someone your own size!” And the beast turns, galloping at her as fast as it could- it steps into a particularly grassy area and the floor collapses. A classic pit trap, elementary.

“Are you alright, Donald?” Scrooge frets, falling to his knees at his side.

“You came.” Donald smiles, arms going lax as the adrenaline of the fight leaves him.

“For you? Of Course.”

* * *

 

The sky is trembling, the rain so loud and so think Scrooge can barely see in front of his face form the force of it. Donald had been right about the storm, and he was too stubborn to listen. He grabs Della, drags her close so she doesn't lose her footing on the slick floor of the ship.

“Where’s Donald?” He shouts, voice barely carrying to her from the pounding of the rain.

Dellas feet slip and she falls, grabbing onto the railing so she doesn't take Uncle Scrooge with her. He grabs on as well, looking down at the deck- and he freezes, spotting the tiny speck of his- of his son standing there, soaked, trying to wrangle the mast- no, it’s too dangerous-

Donald looks at something off the side of the boat and his hands still.

He turns, makes eye contact with uncle Scrooge- he screams something he can’t hear, wrapping his arms around the main mast and squeezing his eyes shut-

_Brace yourself._

Scrooge Drops to the floor, wraps his arms around Della and holds onto the railing half a second before the wave hits the side of their boat. He’s drowning for half a second, completely underwater, before the ship rocks violently- he thinks it’s going to tip, he’s almost certain of it- but it doesn’t. He opens his eyes, gazes down onto the deck-

(He doesn’t tell Della this, at first, and he knows it was cruel to to keep it from her, but he was trying to protect her-)

Donald isn't holding onto the mast anymore. He’s laid out flat on the deck, eyes closed, a puddle of water pooling around him. It’s red tinged and ugly.

Another wave hits, and when Scrooge gathers his bearing enough to look, Donald isn't there, swept away, gone forever.

It was always Donald, wasn’t it?

Of course.

* * *

 

They're at a private beach, hidden by rocky outcrops, at great Uncle Scrooge's request. There’s not much sand here, it's mostly pebbles all piled up that make that crunch sound when you step on several at once, all sliding against each other. Lena had offered to come but Webby had declined. Miss Beakley sat in the car, unable to watch.

Great Uncle Scrooge hugged them each, one by one.

“Thank you kids, for letting me be a part of your life.” He says, the cries in his head reaching a fever pitch. He turns and steps into the water and suddenly- there is only silence. He treads deeper and deeper, dropping his cane when the water made him light enough to walk without it.

_You came._

“Of Course.” He says softly, to the voice in his head.

He disappears beneath the water.

The waves crash against themselves. The clouds inch across the sky. Birds caw. Time passes.

“Should we go?” Huey asks quietly.

There's a splash in the water. One long, black fin rises up.

“Yes.” Dewey says but no one moves.

The water is blue and green and opaque, they can see nothing but the fin, a dark shape beneath the waves. It glides across the top of the water, and when the water gets too shallow they can see its arms reach out and begin to drag, kicking up dirt and debris, still hiding it from view, crawling up the beach. The water falls away and it reached the stones and the pebbles, and the creature pulls itself onto the shore-

It’s a duck- except its- its wrong and not a duck at all- it's got white feathers on top, crusted with salt and silt and stained yellow by dirt- it’s missing patches, feather getting thinner and thinner down its arms until its hands are raw and barren, skin blackened at the edges and webbed, claws torn and unnatural from its fingertips. The same sort of patchy fade of feathers follow its hips, the same sickly green-black stained at his waist, and where there should be tail feathers and legs there is only a long serpent's tail, one dorsal fin portuding. Long slits marr its ribs, gills, and as the creature heaves water floods down and out from them, purged by its body.

“Uncle Donald?” Louie chokes out in alarm, fear laced through his words like poison.

The monster looks up. He’s got blue eyes, blue as the sky.

“Boys.” he says and his voice sounds like a garbage disposal, grinding on their ears, making them flinch at the harshness of it, “Won’t you come to the water?” He rumbles.

“No.” Dewey says and his hands tremble.

“We can end this, finally. Don't you want it to stop?” he drags himself across the sand, claws catching on the stones, crawling ever close, “Come with me. Free me. I’m your Uncle.”

“No, you're not. You’re not Uncle Donald.” Huey's voice shakes.

The monster stills, stilted like the rusted gears in a once-loved wind uo toy,turning his head to face him, “No,” he agrees, yellowed and blunted teeth clicking, “Not for a long time.”

“And we’re not the same people as when you knew us, right?” Louie scrambles to think, edges backward, “You don’t know who we are, how can you care about us? We weren’t even out of our eggs yet.”

A feather drops from his arm, twirling to the ground, and the thing wearing their Uncles face smiles. “A loophole.” His voice sounds like glass in a blender. More feathers drop from his body, exposing more and more sick skin, “Good boy.” He says, and blood pours from his mouth as he rots form the inside out, skin withering and tearing as the curse keeping him alive and twisted and _wrong_ fades.

It struggles to turn, dragging itself away from the shore, they are still as statues made from marble and terror, and it leaves, dropping feathers and blood in his wake. It slips underneath the waves, slithering into the water, down down down. Feathers rise up to the surface. It's over.

There's blood in the water.

( _Take your baby down_

_Underwater moonlight_

_Watch your baby drown_

_With love_

_And in the moonlight_

_Underwater moonlight_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Check out this amazing fanart of our duck siren here! https://quadrell.tumblr.com/post/180123512214/i-havent-done-any-duckvember-in-what-2-weeks-so


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